


Looking Through Your Eyes

by tjmystic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biblical Allusions (Abrahamic Religions), Biblical Reinterpretation, Biblical Themes (Abrahamic Religions), Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27800821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjmystic/pseuds/tjmystic
Summary: Castiel was not the first of his Father’s creations. He wasn’t the tenth. He wasn’t even the hundredth. Castiel was the two-thousand five-hundred and sixty-seventh creation of God, the eighteenth of what would eventually become fifty Seraphim. This was fact, something he simply understood at the onset of his creation, just as he knew that he and the other beings around him were angels, his brethren. Just as he knew, without ever seeing Him, without Him being anywhere nearby, who his Father was.
Relationships: Castiel & Anna Milton, Castiel & Joshua (Supernatural), Castiel & Uriel (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 4





	Looking Through Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> We have all sorts of fics about Castiel's introduction to the show, but we never get to see where Castiel actually started. Considering that his ending, though beautifully acted, was absolute shit, I decided that there was no time like the present to remedy that. 
> 
> Note that I'll be updating the tags and characters list as I post new chapters. And yes, it will end up as a Destiel fic. Because it's starting at the literal beginning of the universe, though, it's gonna take awhile for that to happen lol. So be patient ;)

In the beginning, there was light.

At least, that was the beginning for Castiel.

His being, vast and incorporeal, shimmered against the beams and rays that shone from seemingly everywhere at once. His feathers, new and somehow damp, fluttered against the brand new breeze. It was magnificent. It was perfect.

It was Creation.

Castiel was not the first of his Father’s creations. He wasn’t the tenth. He wasn’t even the hundredth. Castiel was the two-thousand five-hundred and sixty-seventh creation of God, the eighteenth of what would eventually become 50 Seraphim. This was fact, something he simply understood at the onset of his creation. Just as he knew that his purpose was to obey, to serve, to protect. Just as he knew, without ever seeing Him, without Him being anywhere nearby, who his Father was and what He had done. What He was _still_ doing.

He shivered, looking askance at his siblings. Many flitted in and out of being, some for mere moments, some for what Castiel knew must have been eons. Perhaps they, too, had felt a calling, a purpose, and had vanished to go fulfill it. As for himself, he knew his duty, but not his mission. He would wait until he received direct orders.

An older Seraph, larger and more majestic, fluttered to his side, pulled him into her orbit. Her words bled into his consciousness, as did her name—Anna.

“I know. It is a lot to take in. We could go somewhere else, if you would like? He has created a home for us. I could show you.”

Castiel turned to her. Around them, more and more pinpricks of angels bloomed into being. Like all of his other brethren, they were made of the light itself, yet still dwarfed, rendered obsolete, in the radiance of God. And, then, they, too, disappeared.

Without pause, Castiel pushed away his desire to watch their Father, to bathe in the glory of His work. He had been waiting for orders. This, framed as a question or not, must be that.

“Of course.”

Anna smiled and enveloped him. The _whoosh_ of her wings was barely audible over the pulsating, shimmering light, but it flooded Castiel’s being all the same. A moment later, his grace touched ethereal marble and prismatic reflections, far removed from the pure light he’d been born into.

Heaven. He knew this place was Heaven. His home.

He returned Anna’s smile, and, together, they soared toward their siblings.

\---------------------------

Years passed. From the safety of Heaven, Castiel watched on as their Father formed endless, waterless oceans that spanned galaxies, flecked with stars and nebulas and voids. There was no rhyme or reason to the order of His creation. Not one that Castiel understood, at any rate. What always began as fathomless light eventually gave way to expanses of immense darkness, which, in turn, filled with lightyears of color and illumination. Those lights would dim, then flare, then fade, some exploding into supernovas to rival Castiel’s own grace, others folding in on themselves and absorbing everything in sight. He always sensed a distant air of discomfort, regret, loss, when the latter occurred, when the darkness overwhelmed creation. He never understood it, but he knew it was there all the same. But, then, his Father’s overwhelming radiance would overtake the universe again, and the whole process of Creation would begin once more.

Much as it fascinated him, he never abandoned his duties to watch. He only knew Creation from a distance, the awe-filled murmurings of his brethren who had been lucky enough to see the universe take place with their own eyes. His purpose, his only reason for existence, was to stay to the halls of Heaven, singing his Father’s praises and protecting its outer reaches from unknown threats.

Though he performed both duties admirably, even his early self had to admit that the latter was nearly pointless. External threats were nonexistent, and internal threats impotent. The only beings within Heaven were the angels themselves, and though it was possible that they could harm one another, an angel could not annihilate another angel within the sphere’s confines. Beyond that, why would his brethren ever wish to turn on one another in violence?

By the time he had the answer to that question, the rules had changed, and he had slaughtered a fair number of his own siblings by his own hand.

Back then, though, near the beginning of Creation, he held both his tongue and his post without complaint. Not that anything truly warranted complaint. Heaven was vastly different from the ether he’d first inhabited. It was regimented, defined. Every pillar, every step, every room had its place and purpose—nothing was extraneous or unused, nothing fell free. He never tired, nor did he hunger. If he wanted company, there were thousands of other angels he could call upon at a moment’s notice. If he wanted to be alone, he needed only sit at Heaven’s gates. Heaven was perfect, and he was its steely, silent watchman.

Billions of years later, it would occur to him that he was dissatisfied. As dissatisfied as any being incapable of feeling could be, anyway. Had anyone asked him at the time what he’d rather have been doing, he certainly wouldn’t have had a response. The concept of preference—of anything, really, outside of duty—was as foreign to him applied calculus to a fire ant. What use had he of choice?

When he eventually found the answer to that question, he realized that he was unhappy hearing of Creation without seeing it. He’d have preferred to witness his Father create up close, and Heaven, though the only home he’d ever known, was stifling.

It is no wonder, then, that Castiel found himself inexplicably drawn to a different creation entirely.

By all measures of existence, it wasn’t much to look at. Just a planet, a mere speck in the miasma of the universe. It was neither the largest nor the smallest in its galaxy, did not rotate against its axis nor revolve in a particularly fascinating way around its sun. It was certainly nothing magnificent. And, yet, when first Castiel set eyes upon it, he received a shock to his system.

There were so many _colors_. Not like the iridescent ultraviolet of his wings, or the invisible glow and pulse of grace that shimmered along the edge of each brethren’s forms. These colors were solid, opaque, and had to be _looked_ at, directly, to be seen. Everything, in fact, was like that. Nothing on this planet existed as it did in Heaven. It was so much to take in. It was all so… _real_.

But there was one other thing that set it apart from every other planet. Of all the planes in existence that Castiel in his infinite wisdom could conceive, only this one planet, this imperfect orb of blue and brown and green, had been chosen by God to sustain mortal life. 

Castiel was not alone in his fascination. During the brief interludes when he convened with the Seraphim behind the Gates, they all expressed their curiosity. Even angels who had nothing to do with guardianship and had only heard tale of the little planet were prone to conversation on the topic. One of the most widely debated was what to call it. Each angel came into being with knowledge of every language that would ever be spoken, written, or otherwise communicated throughout the universe, and each of those languages had a different name for Castiel’s favorite planet. As for himself, he took to the label “Earth”.

The Earth was ancient, older than many of the angels by far, Castiel included. Perhaps it was even older than Death and his brothers, Famine and War. No one but the archangels seemed to know for sure, and they scarcely left their Father’s side long enough to speak to their younger siblings. As such, few things about the Earth were widely known throughout the Host. Castiel’s older siblings sometimes spoke of the Earth’s earliest occupants, the Leviathan, whom they subtitled “God’s failed first experiments”. Castiel questioned the truth behind these claims, though, as did many of his fellow guards. For one, if the Leviathan preceded angels, then how could the angels know of their existence? For another, if the Leviathan ever existed, where were they now? And, most importantly, how could their Father, a truly perfect being, ever make a mistake?

(He did not know, at the time, that God first created great hounds as his Heavenly companions but quickly found them too violent. He did not know of Purgatory’s existence, or the fact that his Father had forcibly banished the Leviathan to that realm. He did not know of the mark Lucifer so willingly accepted, much less that God had seen everything that would unfold after his favorite son’s choice. In those early days, Castiel questioned little and knew even less.)

Other claims about the Earth piqued Castiel’s interest much more. While nearly the whole planet was lush and wild, it apparently contained a secret place set aside from the rest, a garden paradise that God had deigned “Eden”. As of yet, it was empty, if the rumors were to be believed. Considering that said rumors stemmed from angels who had seen even less of the planet than Castiel himself, Castiel wasn’t entirely convinced. He certainly never saw any garden matching that description, and he watched its surface tirelessly.

Eden or not, though, there was more than enough wonder and beauty about the place to hold his interest. God had long since moved on to other planes of existence, perhaps entirely different universes if Castiel’s predecessors were to be believed, and, yet, the Earth continued to flourish. Their Father’s creation continued to create on its own. Grass, trees, flowers. Lizards, insects, frogs. All of them perfectly capable of designing new life, all perfect in his Father’s image.

For 1,523,401 years, he was content to merely watch it from afar. He held his watch at the Gates of Heaven, he sang songs about his Father’s greatness, and he communed with the other Seraphs. He did not leave, he did not question.

And then, one day, something changed. Something _moved_.

In those first instants, Castiel thought it was God Himself, returned to add to his most brilliant creation. There was no light, though, much less one as bright as the one Castiel had felt in the ether at his birth. Perhaps one of his brothers, then, another angel come to witness the splendor of the Earth up close. But the movement had not come from above—it came from below.

When his fellow guards questioned him later, Castiel would answer, truthfully, that he was concerned. That he feared some unknown enemy had taken root on Earth. He would also answer that he feared that enemy might then attack Heaven. It wasn’t a lie, but, in the privacy of his unshared thoughts, he could admit that that worry did not occur to him until much later. In that moment, all he cared about was protecting the Earth.

He confirmed the presence of other angels along the Gate, and, then, he was gone.

His first reaction, upon touching ground, was awe. If “awe” could, indeed, describe such a sensation sufficiently. Much as his Father’s light had done all those eons ago, the Earth in all its glory was overwhelming. Mystifying. The colors he’d seen from a distance were so much richer, brighter, in person. The air touched his grace like a gentle whisper, even as it wailed and howled around him. It smelt lively and thick and fresh. Had he the need for air, he surely would have been breathless.

Fortunately, he did not. Nor did he completely lose track of his initial purpose.

Steeling himself, he flew to the precipice of the Earth’s surface, where land gave way to sand and salt and water. No great chasm had sprung up along the edge. The storm across the sea was continuous but not unnatural. But, still, there was movement. A change in the wind.

Castiel leant closer to the shore, hoping for a better look. He was not disappointed.

From the sludge, a thing moved. A small thing. A tiny, near-microscopic being, slimy and amorphous in its countenance. It squished as it flopped along the shoreline, slow and awkward in its attempts to reach the ground. Castiel, no less awkward in the near-corporeal from he’d adopted as soon as he hit the Earth, surged forward. This thing was not an enemy. It was hurting. It needed his help, he was sure of it.

His feet had barely touched the surf when he was stopped.

An older brother, magnificent and gentle in a way Castiel was unused to, laid his being across Castiel’s and stayed him in the muck. Like Anna before him, all those eons ago, Castiel knew this brother he’d never met instantly.

“Don’t step on that fish, Castiel,” Joshua murmured. “Big plans for that fish.”

Joshua’s form shimmered, urging Castiel to take a closer look. So, he did. The little fish, hobbling and scraped all over, pulled itself past the foam, the rocks, the lacerating reeds. Its body heaved, gills shaking as it tried to breathe. Deep within himself, Castiel still wished to ease its pain. He forced himself not to move, but something must have given him away. He felt Joshua’s stare upon him, curious and perhaps even surprised, but he did not speak, neither to permit nor chastise. Still, Castiel did not like this look—angels had singular purpose, a shared consciousness he was all too aware of in his millions of years of existence. Surely surprise was not a common emotion, much less an accepted one.

Eventually, Joshua moved his wings.

“There is a certain… brilliance about it. The way it perseveres, even in the face of such torment. All for the chance to find something new. Not even the promise of something better—just new. Imagine how resilient the next generation might be. And the next. I must admit, I prefer the trees and the flowers, but still. This… this is something special.”

Some, but not all, of the tension in Castiel’s grace ebbed away. This could be a test, a trap of some sort, but Castiel could not think what its purpose could be. He hadn’t done anything wrong. And he couldn’t help from trusting his older brother. For all that neither of them had any true reason to visit the Earth—not one that Castiel could conceive, anyway—Joshua seemed honest.

The moment passed. The fish dug itself further into the reeds, laying a string of translucent eggs behind it.

Wordless, Joshua flittered toward the distant forest. As he had at his beginning, when confronted with God’s light, Castiel stayed a moment more, then flitted back to his post.


End file.
